


Harellan

by SuddenlyTentacles



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Animal Death, Blood and Gore, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 20:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3181505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuddenlyTentacles/pseuds/SuddenlyTentacles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not like Dorian hasn’t seen his fair share of grisly sights, even before circumstances conspired to have him follow his lover all over Thedas, murdering random strangers and every variety of wildlife. No, he’s seen plenty; but the scene at the far end of Skyhold’s bridge is… different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harellan

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for this DAKM prompt in part 1;
> 
> "The dalish don't really have a taboo with homosexuality. Children and adults are traded between clans as commodities to bolster numbers and diversify the gene pool, so a clan with a low population isn't affected if one or two elves have a preference for the same sex. What really sets them off are interracial couplings, mostly because elf blood doesn't carry over.
> 
> Give me M!Lavellan facing racism for the first time because of his relationship with Dorian; If he's a mage, he once had reverence and respect as a Keeper's First, but now his own kind spit at him in the streets and call him a flat-ear and a traitor. Are there angry letters from the clan? Threats of being disowned? Does it even garner disapproval from Solas, with his preference for elves?"
> 
> Crossposted to my Lavellan's tumblr - http://fenneclavellan.tumblr.com/post/108231375111/

It’s not like Dorian hasn’t seen his fair share of grisly sights, even before circumstances conspired to have him follow his lover all over Thedas, murdering random strangers and every variety of wildlife. No, he’s seen plenty; but the scene at the far end of Skyhold’s bridge is… different.

The gutted wolf dangling by a rope from the rusted gate had apparently been pregnant, either by design or happy accident the messengers had taken every advantage of. The half-formed pups are strewn across the cobblestones among their mother’s entrails, maimed and dismembered in their own unique ways. The nearest is pinned to the stones by a bone-white dagger, its hilt wrapped in twine. There’s blood absolutely everywhere, enough to make Dorian doubt it all came from one wolf.

There are a few guardsmen milling about, nervously dodging sticky puddles under the stern, still gazes of Cullen, Leliana, and Fennec. Dorian thinks about Josephine’s pale, clammy face when she delivered the news to Skyhold’s library, interrupting the kiss Fennec delivered every morning without fail before going about his inquisitorial duties. He hopes she’s delicate enough that it was only the words that disturbed her, and not the sight.

"My people assure me the dagger is Halla horn, your Worship." Leliana says quietly, her voice pitched to carry under the soft howl of Skyhold’s winds. Fennec nods once, silently, then steps forward and crouches down beside the impaled wolf pup, apparently examining it. Dorian wants nothing more than to snatch him up and carry him back to the library, or perhaps his quarters, where Dorian could wrap him in furs and hold him beside the fire.

After a brief eternity of silence, Cullen clears his throat.

"Inquisitor… Is this a threat against your life?" Dorian has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing; something about the cruelty of the question combined with Cullen’s gentle, concerned tone is absolutely hilarious. "I’d like to know if we need to— adjust Skyhold’s security."

Fennec’s laugh is dry and hollow, and makes Dorian’s stomach twist painfully.

"No." Fennec says hoarsely. "It’s not a threat." He shrugs. "Not exactly. Just a message."

"And that message is…?" Leliana asks. Fennec turns and smiles bitterly over his shoulder at her.

"Betrayal." He turns back and looks up at the dangling she-wolf. "Fen’Harel, the dread wolf. The great betrayer." He waves carelessly at the corpse swaying gently in the breeze. "You know how these things work. They’re generally an indication of what the sender intends to do to the recipient, and by stringing up a wolf in my place…" Fennec lets his hand drop and stands abruptly, smacking dust off his pants though they’d never touched the cobblestones. "I’m safe as long as I stay away. It’d be different if they’d set it on fire." He looks down at the tiny corpse at his feet, and then up at Leliana. "If you still have people watching over— the clan, you should pull them out. Warn any patrols we have in the area to stay clear of any Dalish." Leliana nods, then opens her mouth, and to Dorian’s astonishment, hesitates before speaking.

"…Are your mothers in danger, Inquisitor?"

Fennec bows his head for a long moment, and Dorian watches helplessly as he squeezes his eyes shut and takes a long, deep breath.

"Either they saw it coming and cleared the trap safely, or they didn’t. If they’re safe and travelling, they know where to find me. If they want to see me."

When he raises his head again, his face is still as stone, his gold eyes dull. “You’re all dismissed. I’ll clean this up myself. The servants don’t need to see this.”

There’s a dangerous beat after his order, where Dorian holds his breath and hopes the Maker won’t let them argue with Fenn, not right now, and then Leliana and Cullen bow and murmur their goodbyes together. The soldiers who had been fidgeting around the edges of the conversation are almost too eager to beat a hasty retreat. No one comments when Dorian declines to move from where he’s been leaning against the cold stone of the bridge’s low wall; no one even looks at him as they stream back towards Skyhold, save Leliana bringing up the rear, who catches his eye as she glides past. As if she needed to.

He can’t quite make himself wait until their footsteps have died away, not with Fennec staring into the middle distance at absolutely nothing, not even shivering when the wind picks up and tears at his coat, hastily thrown on over the thin outfit Josephine insisted he wear around the nobility. Dorian closes the gap between them in a few long strides, his hands coming up to cup Fennec’s face gently and his head bowing to touch his forehead to his lover’s, only to be thwarted when Fennec fists a hand in the front of his robes and hauls him in close, wrapping him up in a rough, tight hug. He adjusts accordingly, wrapping his arms around Fenn’s shoulders and petting his hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head and then resting his cheek there while they cling to each other. After a moment, he realizes he’s muttering a steady stream of comforting nonsense, in Tevene no less, but before he can decide whether or not to stop, Fennec begins to shake in his arms.

“Shhh,” He tries, “Shhh, amatus, bene erit—”

The first sob shatters his heart entirely, leaving nothing but the searing pain of glass in his chest, burning with every shake and shudder that wracks Fennec.

He’s seen Fenn cry before, or thought he had; tears that had spilled over his cheeks silently in the dark of night to be wiped away with stealthy speed, or the bitter leaking that came with too many drinks and too little company, or even the high, sharp keening that left his cheeks damp in the wake of nightmares he refused to share. This was a hurricane compared to the scattered showers of grief Dorian had weathered with him before. Fennec’s face is pressed desperately to Dorian’s bare shoulder, his skin feverishly hot against Dorian’s and his tears even hotter, and all Dorian can do is press his lips to Fennec’s cheek and temple over and over again, and hold him as tightly as he can. The sobs are vicious and ceaseless, tearing themselves from Fennec’s throat one after the other, punctuated by deep, bone-rattling coughs and frantic gasps for air. He can feel Fenn’s fingers clawing at his leathers, scrabbling for purchase, but he doesn’t dare pull away long enough to take Fennec’s hands in his.

“I—” Fennec gasps, wet and ragged, and ignores Dorian when he shushes him again. “I— I’m— so fucking— I’m so— _fucking sorry_ —” He manages, and then a fresh wave of sobs takes him over.

“Quiesce. There’s nothing to apologize for amatus, this is not your doing.”

“Not— not you, _never_ — you.” Fenn hiccups, pulling away to look up at him; the kohl around his eyes is hopelessly ruined, tracks staining his cheek. Dorian automatically cups his cheek and rubs at the smeared edges with his thumb to tidy them as he listens. “I’m not sorry— about you, I just— it _hurts_ , I didn’t think— I should have, but I— but I fucking— _stupid_!” He sobs, dropping his forehead against Dorian’s chest and shaking violently again. “I knew! I— I fucking— knew, and I still— _fuck_! I _knew_ , Dorian!”

“I know,” He murmurs, tucking Fennec’s head under his chin. He’s not particularly surprised when a tear slips down his own cheek. “I said as much myself, when I left home.” It’s funny, really, he’s sure of it. It’s the kind of irony that would leave him in stitches if he’d found it in the distant pages of a novel.

He hasn’t got Fennec’s knack for telling time by the sun’s climb, but he’d wager his birthright against hours passing before Fennec calms, bursts of hysterical sobbing giving way to a slow leak, and then finally to sleep in Dorian’s lap; at some point standing had become too uncomfortable and he’d coaxed Fennec down to the stones, well away from the grisly scene, but not too close to Skyhold. It’s only gotten colder despite the sun’s height, and he’d resorted to subtle heating magic some time ago, running his hands over his arms and face and then Fenn’s, warming his fingers and the delicate tips of his ears.

When his breath slows and steadies and he’s finally limp against Dorian’s chest, Dorian sighs and awkwardly clambers to his feet with Fennec still in his arms. He hardly twitches, even when Dorian comes dangerously close to dropping him as he rises

His legs are stiff from the cold, but they warm to the journey as he makes his way back across the bridge and through Skyhold’s courtyard. Eyes follow them closely, but they’re given wide berth and no one offers to take Fennec the rest of the way to his quarters. Dorian’s grateful for it.

When he lays Fennec down on the bed, he sits down on the edge, leans over him, and simply looks for a few moments. He lets his eyes trace the scars carved into his skin, recalling the stories behind each one Fenn had whispered to him, then the warm crimson lines of his vallaslin; for the hearthkeeper, Sylaise, he’d said shyly. An ‘interesting’ choice for a hunter, according to Solas. Dorian brushes a damp lock of matching red hair away, behind his ear, and presses a kiss to his temple before rising and making his way to the fireplace.

There’s a kettle full of fresh water by it, and Dorian coaxes steam from it with a lazy curl of his fingers. As he’s soaking his handkerchief in it, there’s a grunt from the bed, and then a sharp gasp.

“Dorian!”

“Here, amatus.” He doesn’t quite run to the bed, and he has the presence of mind to bring the cloth with him at least. Fennec is pale and sweating and shaking, bolt upright in the bed, and grabs Dorian’s wrist the moment he’s within reach. “Here,” He murmurs, “Right here.”

Fennec lets go and drags his hand over his face, smearing the kohl even more. “Sorry.” He whispers. Dorian shakes his head and cups Fenn’s cheek again, smiling as sweetly as he can.

“I know how you get distracted by my dazzling charm and beauty, but do try to pay attention now and again.” He says, and gently takes Fennec’s chin to tilt his face up. “You have nothing to apologise for. If I’ve done nothing wrong, then neither have you.”

He supposes it was too much to hope for, that it wouldn’t summon fresh tears; at least they’re only a quiet trickle this time, and the corner of Fenn’s mouth twists into a rueful smirk anyways. Dorian decides to call it a win when Fennec nuzzles his palm and presses a gentle kiss to the heel of it.

“Here now, let me have at you before someone mistakes you for a demon.”

Fennec simply shuts his eyes and places his damp chin in Dorian’s palm, and Dorian wonders not for the first time what he’s done to deserve everything Fennec has given him. And to think he’d have settled for a quick tumble all those months ago.

He takes his time and wipes away the kohl and sweat and salt with slow, deliberate swipes of the cloth, subtly warming it in his hand to keep it comfortable. Fennec’s eyelids hardly flutter when he passes over them, or even when he carefully wipes away the grime of grief and exhaustion from the corner of his eyes. He’s done too soon it seems, and he adds a final flourish by leaning forward and kissing Fennec gently. Fenn sighs into the kiss and leans closer, tilting his head and deepening the kiss just a bit, before breaking it and pressing his forehead to Dorian’s.

“I love you.” He whispers. Dorian thinks back to the first time Fennec murmured those words into his ear, how they’d only ever followed in the wake of others. _‘Ar lath ma.’_ He kisses Fennec again, a quick, soft press of their lips together.

“Te amo quoque.”


End file.
